One last dance
by starlightexpresso
Summary: The girl who he'd fallen in love with was gone, and unlikely to come back. He could do nothing more than simply mourn her, the victim that he'd killed with his own, bare hands. / Spencer escapes Radley and spends a night with Toby, who's on his last A-mission.


**A/N:** It's the darkest and most twisted thing I've ever written. I truly hate myself for writing this. Also, it's interchanged with Sylvia Plath's "Lady Lazarus", if anyone's wondering.

* * *

She heard the wooden stairs leading to her bedroom creak silently under his weight. The sound of careless strides approaching her was growing louder and louder, as it began to mirror her very own heartbeat. Clenching her fists, she took a deep breath, summing up all the courage she'd managed to muster over past few weeks. She'd settled everything, and there was no way back, for they were already damned. Both of them.

She took a tiny, round mirror out of her pocket and studied her own reflection. Her formerly rosy cheeks were now hollow and doughy, as if someone drained all the blood out of her face. Her eyes, still the same shade of brown, were strangely bloodshot and lifeless. Even her lips seemed paler, and her futile attempts to redden it with a lipstick only brought out how chapped they were. With a sigh, she painted her eyelashes and brushed her curly hair once more, hoping that this little gesture will brighten her appearance a bit.

Spencer turned her head abruptly as she heard the gloved hand open the door and she saw Toby. His darting, icy blue eyes looked at her from under the black hood in pure daze. He was like a deer caught in the headlights.

Letting out a silent chuckle, she folded her arms and, slowly but resolutely, made her way to him. "Well, hello", she began casually. "Won't you come in? I've been waiting for you."

Confused, he blinked twice, and then finally spoke: "I-"

She moved closer, so close that their noses were almost brushing. So close that she could feel the warmth of his minty, gasping breath on her shoulders. She gently put her index finger on his oh-so-luscious lips in order to hush him and felt a shiver running down her body while doing so. "Don't", she demanded.

He was examining her like a stranger. She felt his gaze and looked up; her eyes, brown as ripe chestnuts in the middle of autumn, studying him like a book. He didn't change a lot, but you couldn't say the same about her; the ghost of a woman, utterly devastated. She noticed how his eyes narrowed a little at the sight of her living remains, in something that seemed like a weird mixture of concern, sorrow and disbelief, and chuckled again. She, then, lifted her left hand and stroked her fingers against his chiseled jaw line, trying to guess his thoughts. Her palms were sweaty and cold like snowflakes on his flushed face.

_Dying_

_Is an art, like everything else,_

_I do it exceptionally well._

She pulled his hood, his horrid disguise down and wrapped her arms around his neck. Standing on tiptoes, she leaned towards him and whispered in his ear: "The past is the past. I know what you've done. But, right now, I'd rather forget."

He embraced her softly, and, watery-eyed, murmured an apology. His trembling arms were so weak that they almost slipped out of her body. Shaking her head lightly, she silenced him again and pulled out of the hug only to full-on kiss him. He, a little hesitantly though, kissed her back, equally passionate. Her kisses, in difference to her icy skin, were feverish and steamy, and he felt himself melt in pure desire as she was nibbling his lower lip. She ran her fingers through his soft, ash brown hair, and he, in return, brushed his lips upon her neck, placing gentle kisses down her collarbone. He couldn't help indulging in her sweet, intoxicating scent that reminded him of violets in blossom, long beach walks and, most importantly, home. To say that he missed her would've been an understatement.

She pulled him closer, luring him into bed. He didn't resist. Instead, he lifted her by her waist and carried there himself. Spencer slid her hands under his t-shirt and took it off, admiring his athletic body. She started rubbing circles on his torso, first delicately and then more and more aggressively, 'til it became more of a scratching. She continued leaving her marks on his body as he moaned her name in ecstasy. He, then, embraced her warmed-up, alluring body in a tight grip, holding her so lustily when she wrapped her thighs around his crotch. Toby pressed his lips against hers once more, sucking in the air she breathed and letting her do the same to him. They broke the kiss at the same time, both running out of the air supply. He, lying beside her, cupped her tired yet glowing face in his hands, marveling at its heartbreaking, undeniable beauty. She smiled a broken smile and placed a chaste kiss on his nose. He giggled, and then looked her in the eye again, the azure of his soft, dexterous orbs tempestuous with flaxen hues of emerald and grey as ocean waves, slowly waning after the storm. "I thought I lost you forever. God, Spence, I'm so sorry...", he breathed, his voice cracking. "If... if there's anything I can do, to repay you for everything I've done, just tell me and I'll do every-"

She didn't let him finish - instead, she silenced him with a kiss, and whispered another "don't" into the grasping mouth of his.

_I do it so it feels like hell,_

_I do it so it feels real,_

_I guess you could say I've a call._

He returned the kiss, breathing her in and out. She was so tiny, so fragile, like a porcelain doll in his hands. It was so ironic; the one who used to stand strong in all her pride and glory, could now fall apart in the matter of seconds. And it was all his doing.

She lifted her hand and began caressing his golden skin, her slim fingers like butterflies dancing its way down his body, devouring every contour of his frame. His fingertips were brushing her apple-scented, fine, auburn hair. He was smiling, because it felt right, more right than anything else in the world, but at the same time his heart was broken and he knew that so was hers.

Suddenly, she raised her eyes to meet his, and began speaking slowly, still stroking his muscular arms. "Remember", she breathed, "when you came to the police station that day?"

He inhaled sharply, having no clue where was she going to lead this conversation. Did he remember? Of course he did. He could still recall the damaged tone of his voice as the pleading shrieks were coming out of his dry throat, and this unbearable pain in his chest as he watched her leave; everything in smallest details, as if it happened just a few hours ago.

She didn't wait for him to answer, though. Instead, she continued her monologue, her voice raising as she spoke: "God, how convincing you were! I could barely fight the urge to just turn around and", she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer in a hug, "just fall, fall right into your arms!", giggled she. A lost, single tear escaped Toby's eyes, as he buried his face in her long hair, his left hand gently stroking the back of his lover. The girl who he'd fallen in love with was gone, and unlikely to come back. He could do nothing more than simply mourn her, the victim that he'd killed with his own, bare hands.

_Ash, ash-_

_You poke and stir._

_Flesh, bone, there is nothing there-_

"If you could only hear yourself speak then!", said she, escaping his embrace, so they were lying face to face, eye to eye. "Oh, Spence...", she imitated his low voice so perfectly that it almost gave him goose bumps. "Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouilov eyouiloveyouiloveyou-"

He looked her in the eye, his eyes tearful, his facial expression showing pure guilt and desperation, and loss. "I do", he whispered, his voice breaking.

Her whole body stiffened at his words. He could see that something in her changed, that she broke through some sort of mental barricade that she'd built over the time he was gone. Her chocolate eyes lit up for the first time this evening, and he noticed a tiny, fiery spark to them that he loved so much but thought he'd never see again. "Toby", she whispered, barely audible, her voice melodious, full of love and longing. For the shortest moment she was the witty, kind, independent and caring Spencer again; she was his Spencer, the girl who stole his heart and gave his life a meaning. But then, she blinked and shook her head, and when she opened her eyes, he could tell that he lost her again. "God, you deserve an Oscar for that performance!", she burst in laughter and turned away. "Goodnight, Toby", she murmured, turning off the nightlight.

They spent the rest of the night lying back to back, drifting in sweet unconsciousness. Only his pillow was wet from tears he couldn't manage to hold back anymore.

He woke up at around 6 am, when the first sun rays broke through the window, caressing his cheeks. He spotted an empty side of the bed beside him and got up instantly, scanning the room for any trace of her. "Spencer?", he called, concerned. He was afraid that something could happen to her, as he shouldn't have spent the night with her, and he was afraid that the rest of the A-team members found out that instead of doing his job, he spent some memorable time making out with his ex-girlfriend. They definitely wouldn't let go of it easily. They'd make them pay. "Spencer? Where are you?", he called again, and stopped at her desk, where he noticed a suspicious file. He opened it, only to see her name written below the Radley Sanitarium logo. He widened his eyes and bit his lower lip as he was reading the document. It really was her file. "Spencer?!", he screamed, disturbed.

Suddenly, he felt a stabbing, sore pain in his back that caused him to cringe in agony. He could feel every nerve in his body getting paralyzed as he fell on his knees, desperately gasping for some air to breathe, like a fish caught in snares on the seashore. He turned around with all the strength he had left and saw Spencer standing still, holding his switchblade, all bloodstained in her hand. Her face was cold and expressionless, as if it was made out of marble. "Is this what you're looking for?", she asked, using the exact same words as she did the night she found out his true identity. "That's why you came back, right? To kill me, for good? Don't bother, I'm already dead.", she hissed.

Toby was looking pleadingly at her, his eyes getting paler and paler each second, as the life was swimming away from them. He shook his head a little, his voice beyond weak as he whispered: "I never would".

Spencer only spat at his words. "Everything you say, is a lie! It's always been! You're a lie! Mona was so right about you. You never loved me!", she yelled, throwing away the knife.

All of the sudden, he understood everything. Mona, that vicious, little bitch. She never believed him when he lied that he doesn't care about Spencer. So she set everything up to destroy both of them. He should've known.

He'd looked at her for the last time, trying to memorize every detail of her before his eyelids became too heavy to keep his eyes open. "I did. And I still do.", he murmured, letting out the last breath.

Spencer got on her knees and leaned closer to him. She cupped his lifeless face in her hands and placed a soft kiss on his still warm cheek. "Don't", she whispered in his ear.

_Out of the ash_

_I rise with my red hair_

_And I eat men like air._


End file.
